


you can't say that on television

by orphan_account



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Vaginal Sex, good ol' porn without plot, this fits somewhere between S2 and S3 I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: God, he loves her mouth. He really does. In a literal way, like how her lips feel right now, the way her tongue slides against his so urgently before she abruptly tears herself away, pushing him back down and hurling herself out of the bed.But also in a metaphorical way - the way she caresses each syllable of “sweet dicking christ” as she struggles to hook her bra, the constant torrent of inventive expletives spewing in the general direction of the entire human population of the Earth. She’s just so freely and loudly, vocally angry at everyone and everything.Or - Joyce can't stop swearing and Jim develops a kink.
Relationships: Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	you can't say that on television

“Son of a _fucking_ bitch.”

The blissful post-coital daze that he had been so thoroughly enjoying is brutally interrupted by Joyce’s outburst. Sluggish and pleasantly spent, he turns to find Joyce glaring at the clock on her nightstand. His hopes for a lingering feel-up and maybe a segue into a sloppy round two were growing smaller and smaller by the moment. It’s still so new to them, all of this, that he turns into an overzealous hormonal fool the second he gets to even _look_ at one of her bare breasts.

“What did that poor clock ever do to you to deserve such terrible treatment?”

This makes him the new recipient of that same withering gaze, and he wonders if he should gird his loins. If she wasn’t so goddamn _cute_ like this, all huffy with her mouth clenched up tiny, her nest of brown hair sticking up every which way, one rose-colored nipple just barely visible above the sheet clutched to her chest - he’d almost be genuinely afraid of her.

“I’m gonna be motherfucking late for my stupid goddamn night shift! I never should have let you talk me into doing this shit before work.” She grabs the pillow behind her, swatting him with it playfully. By ‘this shit’, she means taking advantage of the empty house this afternoon, with Will and Jonathan out at school. They aren’t _together_ together, at least not yet, not in a meaningful ‘hey kids we need to talk’ kind of way, hence all the sneaking around. Which _should_ bother them, but Jim has to admit to himself that he finds it hot. It’s like high school all over again. Only they’re hiding from their kids, not their parents. “And I never should have taken this shift from that freaking _asshat_ Mary-Anne anyway.”

God, he loves her mouth. He really does. In a literal way, like how her lips feel right now, the way her tongue slides against his so urgently before she abruptly tears herself away, pushing him back down and hurling herself out of the bed.

But also in a metaphorical way - the way she caresses each syllable of “sweet _dicking_ christ” as she struggles to hook her bra, the constant torrent of inventive expletives spewing in the general direction of the entire human population of the Earth. She’s just so freely and loudly, vocally angry at everyone and everything.

The gravity of the situation occurs to him while he’s driving her to Melvald’s. She’s sitting in the passenger seat with her arms crossed, sucking her teeth and shaking her knee, like all her fidgeting is gonna make the red light turn green any faster. When it finally does, the car in front of them takes oh, maybe three seconds to accelerate, and damn if that isn’t three seconds too long for Joyce.

“Fucking _goooooo,”_ she bellows, reaching across his lap to slam her palm on the horn. 

And suddenly he is very, _very_ uncomfortably hard. Like a fucking twenty-something hard. Which is weird in and of itself, seeing as they just did the deed thirty minutes ago.

But it’s also weird, you know, that his cock twitched because Joyce _yelled_ at a guy. He spends the whole car ride back to his place shifting uncomfortably in his jeans, that are now way too tight, and trying not to think about Joyce saying bad things. El is out for the evening, watching a movie at the Wheelers' place, thank God. He isn’t in the mood for anyone to see him. The five minute phone call with Karen confirming that the kid is actually at their house proves irritating enough.

He tries really hard to ignore the constant throb of this erection that just will not go away. The newspaper doesn’t work. Smoking a cigarette or two or five does nothing. A Bonanza rerun is a waste of time.

When he finally surrenders and takes himself into his hand, he tries really hard to not think about it. He tries to picture soft, demure Joyce, the way she smiles and gently breathes when they ‘make love’ as she calls it. But it sneaks in anyway, all his attempts at propriety be damned, and he spasms into his fist when he thinks about her talking about his ‘thick fucking cock.’

_Well. This can’t be good._

It is at least a week and a half before they find some time alone again, when they both aren’t working and when there isn’t a gaggle of kids in their houses. A night when he’s sure that El isn’t _up to something_ and Jonathan isn’t trying to sneak Nancy through the window to make out with her or whatever. The irony of this frustration is not lost on him - please, Jonathan, stop bringing your girlfriend home because _I’m_ trying to get laid here, thanks.

They are an extra frustrating ten or so days, because he spends every single one of them trying very hard to not notice the lovely, terrible things Joyce says. It used to be endearing and kinda cute when she would whack her elbow on the door frame and snap out a quick ‘mary mother of _fuck_ ’. But it stopped being cute when he kept having to put things in his lap to hide a stupid, inconvenient hard-on. He is a grown man. This is downright embarrassing.

The real trouble starts when they are finally, delightfully alone.

El is staying at Max’s and Jonathan is working an overnight shift and Will is over at the Hendersons’. Or something. They both know that at least _one_ of those things is a more than likely a lie, but if the kids can handle extra-dimensional abominations with startling regularity, they will be fine for the next twelve to eighteen hours.

Things are getting hot and heavy, lounging on her bed, blowing past first base and rounding second. Jim has his hand under her shirt, pinching at a nipple through the fabric of her bra, and she’s kissing him, these soft little things like she usually does. But he just can’t get into it, and not for lack of trying. There’s something nagging at him, and he finally breaks away from her for a moment because he can’t go on like this - it feels weird and wrong being so detached. Sensing that something is off, she already looks a bit hurt, doing that thing where her face is consumed by her big, doe eyes.

 _Goddammit, Jim_. Say something. There’s a beautiful woman in your hands and you’re making her face sad, you big dumb animal.

“Joyce - I - I’ve been thinking. About stuff.” Wait. No, that sounds bad. That sounds _really_ bad.

“What … kind of stuff?” Her brows are knit in frustration. “Like, ‘we shouldn’t be doing this, it isn’t working’ kind of stuff?”

“No! No. God, shit. _Shit_. This is stupid, forget it.” He leans back in to kiss her and she stops him, putting her hand directly in front of his face.

“I’m not gonna pretend you didn’t just suddenly stop what we’re doing, tell me you’re ‘thinking about stuff’, and then try to start tonguing my tonsils like nothing happened.” She takes a minute to smooth her hair and push her bra strap back onto her shoulder. “Go ahead. Spill.”

“Alright. Fine. But if you don’t like it, remember that _I_ didn’t want to talk about it and wanted to just get right back to it. It’s not even important. I swear.” He pauses, hoping that there’s still a way out of this. The way she is gnawing at the inside of her cheek is telling him that there isn’t.

“So. Well. You’re a pretty angry person, right?”

She shoots him a scowl, one of her eyebrows venturing so high it might join her hairline. That was probably not the best way to phrase things.

“That’s not - ugh. Okay. You swear Joyce, a lot. You curse like a sailor and you shout and you yell and you tell everyone exactly where to get off. You tell _me_ where to get off. You do that thing where you push your finger into my chest and just unload whatever is going on in your head and it’s the cutest fucking thing I have ever seen in my _life,”_ He smiles wistfully just thinking about it, and he hopes that she understands that he really does mean this in a good way. “I mean, I could literally just scoop you up and throw you over my shoulder at any time, you’re barely half my size. But that’s - that’s beside the point here.”

“And what _exactly_ is the point here, Hop? You aren’t doing yourself any favors right now.”

“The point I’m trying to make is that - I think it’s hot as shit, Joyce. There. I love it. I’m an absolute fool for it. Crucify me all you want. But more than that - what really stopped me today, is that I can’t help but notice that,” He struggles now to find a flattering way of phrasing this, a way that doesn’t sound like a criticism or critique, because God knows that’s the _last_ thing he wants to do. “I can’t help but notice that when we - um - you know.”

“Oh my God, Hop, are you twelve? When we fuck? You mean when we fuck?”

Wow. That really isn’t helpful. Now he’s confused _and_ horny. _Great._

“Yeah, Joyce. When we fuck - I’ve noticed that you’re quiet when we fuck, okay? That’s it,” The picture of exasperation, he tosses his hands in the air. “You’re just - really quiet! And that’s not like you in _any_ other aspect of your life. I have never heard you be quiet about anything at all _ever._ But when we _fuck_ you’re like - all these tiny little barely audible breathy noises and like zero eye contact! And honestly - it makes me feel weird because that’s not very _you._ And then I have to wonder, do you even _like_ having sex with me? If you’re so goddamn quiet?”

He didn’t intend on exploding like that - he spent a lot of time rehearsing this in his head on the drive over and that really was not how this was supposed to go. She’s just sitting there not saying anything. His chest feels like it’s going to burst if she doesn’t break the silence. Maybe he should go. He starts to turn, about to get up from the bed, when she sighs.

“Wait. Hop. It’s just - well,” A deep crimson flush creeps up along her throat and across her face. Jim’s not sure he’s ever actually seen her embarrassed before. “Lonnie told me I was too loud.”

Her admission is so meek that it breaks his heart.

“He _what?_ ”

“He told me I was too loud. Too forward. That I - said too much. Made too many noises,” She can’t even look at him now. This whole thing was really striking a nerve. “He told me that I was faking it. Told me to shut up. That it wasn’t … lady-like or sexy.”

“ _Too loud?"_ He repeats back, beyond incredulous. This is ridiculous. This is - he is going to find him and beat him to death with his bare hands. The idea that you could hear Joyce, with her sweet foul little mouth making those kinds of sounds and tell her to stop - how could a man take it upon himself to rob the world of something so goddamn _beautiful?_

“Joyce, that’s - Jesus, that’s fucking awful. I mean, first of all, that’s completely ridiculous. There is no such thing as a woman being too loud, in that kind of … context. But also, holy hell, that’s a _terrible_ thing to tell someone. I’m so sorry. What a freaking _chump_. What a piss-baby loser.”

She picks at a loose thread in her quilt and it’s destroying him, seeing her so deflated like this. Scooting closer to her, he throws an arm over her shoulders and pulls her into his chest.

“Joyce. Look at me, babe.” He waits until she is looking directly into his eyes before he continues, because he really needs her to believe him, is totally desperate for her to understand. “That is not only a mean thing to tell you, but also stupid. Very stupid. _Lonnie_ level stupid.”

“So you don’t mind? The noises and the uh,” She swallows hard, in a gesture of self-consciousness. “Talking. I just - I can get really verbose and kind of carried away. It’s like an all or nothing kinda deal.”

He thinks he knows what she means, and if she means what he’s pretty sure she means, it is the hottest thing that he could ever dream of. If he were a religious man he would thank God for this revelation, but alas, no. He also realizes he should probably be a little more certain that she does mean what he thinks she means, because right now all of his blood is in his _other_ head and he could just as easily be jumping to conclusions.

“What do you mean by - talking?”

“What the fuck do you think I mean?” Her voice is raised and it’s nice, seeing Joyce be _Joyce_ again and not whatever Lonnie was trying to turn her into. “Having a conversation?”

“Well - no - obviously, but -”

“You are one dense motherfucker sometimes, Jim Hopper,” She looks up at him, all of her feigned naivety and modesty wonderfully far gone, and places her palm on the straining bulge currently tenting his trousers. “I mean telling you exactly how I want you to fuck me with that dick trying to break out of your pants.”

 _Jesus_.

For a terrifying second, he fears he’s going to just come in his pants, right then and there. He can hear his pulse pounding in his ears and his vision blurs for a second. If he died right now it really wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

_Holy fucking shit, Lonnie Byers. You dumb fucking dillweed. You absolute moron._

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out of an impossibly dry mouth. “Yeah, that uh. I don’t mind that sort of thing at all.”

She laughs at him, a giggle that turns half-way into a snort before she grabs him by the back of the neck and crashes her mouth into his. And it is just _so much_ better than before. Fiery and hard and sometimes just a shade too much, the way she catches his bottom lip in her teeth. He groans when she pulls back from him, staring into his eyes with this look of pure mischief that tells him he is in for a fucking _ride._

“Are you gonna participate, Hop? Or are you just gonna sit there, twitching in your freaking shorts, and take it from me?”

Oh my _God._ He worries for a moment if he’s too rough, shoving her onto her back, but she laughs again. It’s a dare - she’s egging him on, pushing him in an attempt to get him to push back. His fingers fumble as he tries to undo her jeans, and he practically snarls when he finally gets her fly upon, shimmying her pants down her legs. It’s infuriating how he just can’t get his t-shirt over his head fast enough, but the look on her face when he does - the way she rakes her eyes over him, staring at him with pure, unfettered _want_ \- it’s enough to drive a man insane.

“I need you so goddamn bad, Hop. I’m so fucking wet for you.”

Every single word just ruins him, shakes him to his core. Apparently this was a _thing_ for him, some kind of button. Who knew? He wants her to keep talking but he also wants her to _shut up_ , there is only so much of this he can withstand before his brain short circuits. Her wrists fit so easily in his hands, they’re so slender he can just grab them both in his left hand at once, pulling her arms up over her head. She is totally pinned underneath him and flashes him the biggest shit-eating grin.

He is pretty convinced that he might be the luckiest man alive. Come to find out, she wasn’t exaggerating at all. Skimming his fingers under the waistband of her underwear, he is greeted by a tangle of damp curls. He isn’t gentle when he slides two fingers into her center, and the moan she unleashes in response is pure music to his ears. How did she go so long, keeping this all bottled up inside of her? It’s so sad to him, the idea of her sitting there stifling herself all these times because she was afraid he wouldn’t like it.

She bucks her hips up against his hand and gasps, louder this time.

“God, Joyce, you’re so fucking hot like this,” He’s not as good at this as she is, it’s a game he’s never played before. But he needs her to know how perfect she is. Just like this, just the way she is meant to be. “Don’t be quiet around me, ever again, for the love of _God._ ”

“Thanks, but I don’t want your compliments,” Whatever he’s doing with his hand is clearly working, her speech is marred by uneven stutters and pauses. “I want your cock.”  
  
“Fine then,” he shoots back, pulling himself from her cunt and letting go of her hands. Maybe he doesn’t know how to talk like that, but Jim Hopper is intimately familiar with all of Joyce’s buttons. This is his wheelhouse. “You want it so goddamn bad? Come and show me.”

In a flurry of annoyance, she pushes up off of the bed and rises to her knees, tearing her shirt over her head and flinging it behind her.

“Fine, maybe I _will_!” Her hair is a disaster and her hands are almost shaking as she unclasps her bra. This is Joyce at her most radiant - pure undiluted fury, equal parts smiling and sneering. “And maybe you should take off your fucking pants!”

He’s not quite sure if he’s ever undressed so quickly. Before she can say another thing his trousers are pooled on the floor, along with his boxers, and he’s just standing in front of her totally naked and kind of infuriated and the hardest he’s ever been.

“There? You happy, Joyce?” Where are these words even _coming_ from? “You want me to fuck you now?”

And then it hits him - this is what they always do. This is the logical endpoint of the whole fucking thing, whatever it is that they are. This is what they’ve been hurtling towards since she first sat down across his desk. An unstoppable woman meeting an immovable man. It’s a dance they’ve done a thousand times, this little volley back and forth of jabs and barbs, but never like _this._ Never with the feeling of her skin hot against his, her fingers running through his hair as he nips at her neck, making those goddamn pleading sounds in his ear.

“I want you inside me right now,” It’s definitely a demand, not a request, as she lays back in the pillows, wantonly spreading her legs for him. “I need you to put that thick cock inside me right fucking now.”

Well, no need to tell him twice. He sits back on his heels in front of her and grabs the underside of her thighs, pulling her closer and splaying her open.

“Oh, _fuck_ yes,” she whines when he enters her. He doubts for a moment if any of this could possibly be real, if the universe would deign to give him a gift like this.

“Is this enough for you, Joyce?” His movements are deliberately, teasingly slow. He wants to fuck her into the goddamn mattress, wants to make her _yell._ But not yet. Not until she tells him to. Not until he hears her say the words from her fabulous, dirty mouth. _Boy, does he have it bad._ “Is this how you want it?”

“Harder,” she groans, scrabbling for purchase in the sheets, trying to thrust her hips back against him. “Fuck me harder.”

He stifles a moan, trying to hide the effect of her words. But he fails. She sees the weakness. He’s wide open. Never stood a chance. She isn’t going to have to beg for a single thing.

“You like that don’t you? You like hearing me talk like this - you want me to tell you just how fucking good you feel,” She wields each word like a knife, pausing to roll her eyes back into her head on a particularly deep thrust, and he has to bite his lip to keep from whimpering. “You’re not gonna last like this, listening to me talk about the way your cock feels inside me, how I can feel every inch of you - “

“You want harder? Fine.” She was right. He isn’t going to last long like this. So he doubles his pace, gripping her hips so hard he’s pretty sure it’s going to bruise tomorrow. And he gambles with his next statement, really just doubles down. All or nothing now. “I’ll fuck you nice and hard if you touch yourself."

Joyce has never backed down from a dare before. So it shouldn’t surprise him when she stares him dead in the eyes and trails her hand down her abdomen, settling her fingers on her clit.

 _Oh_ , it is such an erotic sight - her legs wide open for him, as she rubs herself in urgent circles, her nipples standing so goddamn pert. But it’s more than that - it’s the sounds. The headboard keeps bumping into the wall, and he can hear a wet slap with every stroke. And on top of that, Joyce just won’t stop _talking_.

“You want me to come for you like this, Hop? You want to watch me come like this, touching myself as you fuck me?”

“God yes, Joyce,” He wants her to because it’s impossibly, indescribably sexy. But also because he’s got maybe ten more thrusts in him, fifteen if he can start thinking about the weather or the contents of his fridge and he really doesn’t want to be _that_ guy. “A thousand fucking times yes.”

She does, and it’s stunning, the way her whole body shivers while his name rolls off her lips, a throaty little yell. He isn’t far behind - he loses himself with an unexpected shout that he’s just too ecstatic to feel self-conscious about.

Always the gentleman, he lets her use the bathroom first. By the time he comes back to bed she’s sprawled in the pillows, with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She looks so goddamn happy, so sated and comfortable, and it sends him over the moon when she playfully pats the space next to her.

“So, uh. That was. Really something.” He reclines on the bed, with his hands behind his head, and she turns to face him, propping herself up on her elbow. “Quite possibly the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Oh yeah? And you’re like, a fucking expert?” She teases him, reaching over to the nightstand to stub out her cigarette in the ashtray.

“Is there _any_ way to answer that question that makes me sound good?”

She laughs, conceding his point. Her smile always makes him feel like his heart is in his throat. She has such a lovely mouth.

“Guess not. Asshole. Thanks for the nice fuck.”  
  
Such a lovely, filthy mouth.  
  
  



End file.
